


Massages at a Reasonable Price, Offered Now at the Leaky Cauldron

by el_em_en_oh_pee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-02
Updated: 2010-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:33:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_em_en_oh_pee/pseuds/el_em_en_oh_pee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hannah sees Harry for the first time since he ran out on her immediately after she confessed her love for him three years earlier, she spends a week trying to decide whether she hopes he never comes back to the pub... or whether she hopes that he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Massages at a Reasonable Price, Offered Now at the Leaky Cauldron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [csi_tokyo3](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=csi_tokyo3).



> Happy holidays, [](http://csi-tokyo3.livejournal.com/profile)[**csi_tokyo3**](http://csi-tokyo3.livejournal.com/)! I really hope you like this – I tried to work in as many of your prompts and kinks as possible. ♥

**2010**  
"Han," Ernie says, frowning over the Leaky Cauldron's account books, "I don't really think that you can afford this."

Hannah sets down the glass she's drying and walks over to the table Ernie's sitting at, stands behind him and peers over his shoulder. "Really?" she asks, disappointed. "There's no way to twist things around and have it work out? We'd be the first Wizarding inn – or pub, for that matter – to offer massages to patrons, that's sure to be a draw. And I have connections… Michael Corner's got some promising-looking students…"

Ernie twists around in his seat, straightening his reading glasses and gesturing for Hannah to pull up a chair. When she does, he points to a column of numbers. "See here?" he says. "These are your profits from the last quarter. Adding top-shelf liquors and a wider selection of foods is beginning to profit nicely, but it will still be a while before there's a big enough difference in what you spend and what you bring in to try a new thing that may or may not work out."

Crossing her arms stubbornly, Hannah says, "But it _will_ work out."

"But it might not," Ernie cautions. "I'm not saying you can't make it work, because if anyone can do it, you can; I'm just saying that an on-staff masseuse isn't a step you should take until it doesn't _matter_ if something goes wrong."

"But technically I can afford it."

Ernie sighs. "Technically, yes. But as your financial advisor, I wouldn't recommend..."

"Thanks, Ern," Hannah says, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "Truly. You're great at budgeting and everything. But I don't know... how much would it set me back, if I hired one now and it failed?"

Hannah is not ashamed to admit that academics have never been her strong point, that her talents lie in producing the satisfaction of others. She only just managed to pull two Exceeds Expectations in her O.W.Ls (Charms and Astronomy) and never bothered with her N.E.W.Ts, but the comment cards filled by those who stay over in the inn at the Leaky Cauldron consistently give her fives on comfort and atmosphere, and that's enough for her. Ernie is making huge waves at Gringotts, for a human, and Hannah respects his opinion more than that of almost any of her other friends, but banking has made him even more cautious than he was at school, and she really _wants_ the Leaky to be able to offer the amenities of a Muggle hotel. There's only so far magic can go toward relaxing people; that's where Hannah has stepped in with the changes she's made to the establishment. She dishes up comfort on a daily basis in exchange for galleons… and for inadvertently-given information.

Ernie, sensing that, now that he's indicated it's possible, Hannah won't let go of the idea of a masseuse, changes the subject. "So what's new in the world?"

"You read the paper more than I do," Hannah points out, pulling up a chair and sitting down. She never reads them, other than catching the odd headline on the papers some of her patrons leave behind in their rooms.

Ernie rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean," he says, and clarifies, "What's new in the world of rumours?"

"True ones or false ones?" asks Hannah, wickedly raising an eyebrow. She sifts through the hundreds of conversations she's overheard in the past week. "Let's see. Davis and Flint broke off their engagement – word is, she thinks he's completely irredeemably criminal. The Greater Health Seminar in Budapest last weekend resulted in St. Mungo's deciding to add facilities for physical training and psychiatry. Michael Corner and Lisa Turpin were obviously both excited about their focuses now being represented. The news will probably go to the printers next week; Mungo's just has to work out how best to fund it initially, before they spread the news." She glances up at Ernie. "Is Gringotts really finally going to get a replacement dragon?"

Ernie smirks at her. "Not telling," he tells Hannah, smugly. "You know way too much already."

Hannah punches his shoulder. "Shove off, you." She stands up, goes back to the bar to finish wiping. "Go back to Gringotts."

He glances at the clock and startles. "Yeah, I really should," he says, closing up her books and organizing his scrap parchments into his bag.

"Thanks for the help," says Hannah. "I really appreciate it." She pauses. "Are you coming by for dinner? Special tonight is –" the name for the specific dish has somehow escaped her. "Dead sheep in sauce."

Ernie's eyes light up. "My favourite!" He deflates, slightly, then perks up again. "But no, not tonight. Hot date and all."

"You love Padma more than me," Hannah says, plaintively, but she's smiling.

"Impossible," he declares, standing up and leaning over the bar to kiss her cheek. "You're practically my sister. She's just my girlfriend."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Hannah cautions as Ernie heads to the door. He flashes a smile at her and lets it swing behind him.

+++

Racking cups in anticipation of the dinner crowd, Hannah lets her mind wander. She's been blessed, really, with the way everything has turned out after the war. Almost. She has the perfect job, running an inn and pub in the heart of the most bustling Wizarding district outside of Prague, and almost all of her friends stop by on a near-daily basis, to catch the latest gossip or Kevin Whitby Culinary Creation™ or to grab a drink with Hannah's special discount-for-friends (Ernie always insists on paying full and always insists on telling her that she's losing money by doing this, but he says it in a way that makes her think he really, really approves). Sure, she's had her share of rough patches, but only one was truly horrible, and anyways, she's since managed to convince herself that she doesn't need a lover to be fulfilled and that she's better off without him, better off surrounded just by friends and customers and with only her highly affectionate cat for company on the lonely late nights that she's spent serving couples nipping in for a quick pint or a room for the night. Making others relaxed and happy makes her happy. That's all she needs.

She makes her decision: she wants to offer her customers massages, so she'll hire the most inexpensive masseuse she can afford: herself.

>   
> _Dear Michael,_
> 
>  _And how are you doing now that there will be lots of baby physical trainers training to treat patients at St Mungo's? Don't be surprised like I know you are, of course I knew about that already._
> 
>  _Let me get straight to the point: I want a masseuse at the Leaky and the cheapest one I can find is myself. Do you know anyone who can train me in how to do it? I am of course willing to pay the appropriate fee. If people like it enough I might hire one who isn't me, so also keep people in mind for that if you like!_
> 
>  _Yours,  
>  Hannah Abbott_

The reply arrives just before the dinner rush:  


>   
> 
> 
>  _Michael's Gymnasium_
> 
>   
>  Hannah, _my good woman who knows far more about the secrets of the world than any person should,_
> 
>  _I would be positively_ honoured _to be the one to train you in the fine art of massage therapy, for the very appropriate fee of one or five of those delicious breakfast-for-dinners your charming Kevin makes. Of course my schedule is chock-full of Quidditch World Cup work but I'm free most Tuesdays and Fridays at five if you can come for training then! If not maybe we can work up a weekend schedule; I do have some evenings that aren't dedicated to my peach of a girlfriend and she loves spas and massages and drinking at your lovely establishment anyway so I can't see her being too miffed!_
> 
>  _Cheers,_
> 
>  __Michael _  
> Michael J. Corner, physical trainer_  
> 

"Wanker," Hannah says, fondly, after reading the owl. She jots a quick response, setting up a timetable for lessons, then goes to concentrate on her patrons.

+++

Five days later, and Hannah is catching up on the latest gossip. The martini special of the night is a feisty gin Gibson, and she's mixing them strong for Ron Weasley, who is currently sharing more than she ever needed to know about the shape and colour of Hermione's nipples in between bouts of bemoaning some criminal outbreak that he and everyone else at Magical Law Enforcement are dealing with.

Hannah's moving on to mix a few Mudbloods for a group of people - teenagers that obviously just got out of Hogwarts, by the way that they're sniggering uncomfortably at the name of the cocktail they just ordered – when Ron's hand lands on her wrist. He's staring blearily, just to the left of her face, in a way that makes her have to suppress an urge to reach up and check her hair. "Hannah," he says, urgently. "I always liked you. You're a very nice girl, I don't know why Harry-" He breaks off, looking upset with himself. "Never mind."

Thirty's a bit too old to be called a girl. She smiles at him kindly, though, touched by the gesture. "Thanks, Ron. That's sweet of you to say."

He smiles, relieved, and she's pulling a Mudblood tumbler off the shelf, when he suddenly frowns again. "Tha's right, meant to tell you – he's coming here tonight."

Hannah stiffens, and distantly, very distantly, she can hear the glass shatter as it hits the floor.

***

 **2007**  
It all comes apart so quickly.

For the first time that she can remember, Hannah's life is actually perfect. Four months ago, Tom had sold her ownership of the Leaky after she'd essentially run the place for him for three years, and already the place is brighter, more popular and more _now_ than it had been in years. And Harry, on top of that – they've only been dating for half of a year, she can easily see it lasting for so much longer. She just loves him so, so much, and is pretty sure that he does, too. They do fight, sometimes a lot, but the arguments never seem that serious to her and they always ends in sex, anyway. He's married to his job, but she is too, and somehow they find time to be together almost every day. Sometimes he nips by for a pint after work, sometimes she leaves Anthony, who works days and writes histories of the War at night, in charge of the lunch crowd and goes to eat in Harry's office, and sometimes, on nights like tonight, Harry comes by after a stakeout right after the pub closes, and they spend their night in Hannah's room.

Because she lives in one of the Leaky Cauldron's rooms full-time, she's appropriated the suite with its own fireplace and a private loo with a bathtub _and_ shower for her own purposes. There's a fire roaring in the fireplace, fighting off the February gloom, and Harry is spooning Hannah in her bed, working his index finger in slow circles over her clit. They've already had sex once, so it's much more pleasant than passionate, but Hannah can still feel arousal building again, low and heavy in her abdomen. It spikes suddenly when he scoots down slightly to mouth at the back of her neck, and she rolls over, pushing him onto his back and straddling his lap. Her hair hangs down in loose curls over one shoulder, dirty blonde turned gold in the glow of the fire, and he moves his hands to her hips, gripping her tight as she leans down to kiss him, gently sucking his lower lip into her mouth and biting lightly. Harry pushes his hips up against hers, adjusting her slightly on his lap, and suddenly her cunt is slick against his cock, which is slowly hardening again. She rolls her hips, feeling him grow stiffer underneath her, and again, and again, until he is full and throbbing and his cock is sliding back and forth between her legs, pressing against her clit rhythmically.

"You're so beautiful," he gasps out, after breaking the kiss to gulp for air, moving one hand from her waist to tug gently at her hair. "You're so – golden and shadowed in the firelight."

Hannah grins, breathless. "Just like a Hufflepuff," she says, biting her lip hard as she lifts up slightly, reaching down between them to grip his cock and position it against her entrance, whispering a protection charm and sliding down slowly until he's full inside of her. Harry, _her_ Harry, thick and hot and pushing hard into her, his hips canting helplessly up as she grinds down. She pushes herself up into a sitting position, licking a finger and dragging it down his chest, circling one of his nipples for a moment before pinching it, hard, and he gasps and the hand on her waist tightens, fingers digging into her fleshy hips, thumb pushing into her stomach, and suddenly he's loosening his grip, putting one hand supportively on her back and moving his other to her stomach, then lower, until his thumb is brushing just above her clit tantalizingly. She moans, pushing his hand lower until he's touching her squarely, thumb slipping over her in a staccato rhythm, and oh _fuck_ , Jesus Merlin, it's so _intense_ she can hardly stand it, and her arousal is spiking and oh _shit_.

"Ha- oh, fuck, _Harry_!" she gasps, and he pulls his hand away, moves it to her shoulder so that he can haul her down and catch her mouth in a sloppy-rough kiss, all teeth and tongues and lips sliding together. His fingers curl up on her back in a way that makes her _certain_ she'd have scratches if he didn't keep his nails trimmed so short.

She needs to catch her breath, so she pulls back slightly, moves her attentions to his neck, just under his left ear, biting lightly and sucking hard – he's definitely going to have a badger bite in the morning. Her breasts rest heavy on his chest, and he moves a hand down to squeeze her bum, so she tightens her muscles around him as she grinds down, twisting her hips in a way that makes the base of his cock push hard against her clit. Sweat drips between them and pools on Harry's chest, and she loves this, the way that sweat makes her feel more charged-up than ever, lubricating and sensitising the way her nipples feel as they scratch against his chest hair – _like an electrical conduit of lust_ , she thinks, a lesson from Muggle school back before Hogwarts somehow dislodging from her memory and floating through her conscious, and then floating away again as she rocks against Harry, feeling him thick and hot and heavy inside of her.

"Oh God, oh Hannah," Harry groans, and that does it; she can feel her orgasm swirl up through her as she moves frantically against him, and he holds her tight and rides her through it, gasping as her hips jerk into his and as she mouths helplessly against his neck. She practically _whines_ at the sensations coursing through her, and suddenly, Harry's mouth falls slack and he drags his hands down to her arse, pulling her down onto him _hard_ , like he's trying to push farther into her than ever before and falls still, coming and coming and she can feel the hot spurt of his come inside of her in a hazy, distant way. She tightens her muscles around him again a few times, almost lazily – she loves the way his face looks when she does this as he's slowly softening inside her. Eventually, he sighs, relaxing back, letting his hands rest gently on the small of her back, and they breathe together as they come down from their post-orgasmic highs.

"I love you," Hannah whispers. They haven't said it yet but she's felt it for a while now, and thinks that right now is a pretty appropriate time to express those kinds of feelings, but Harry stiffens and slides out of her, rolling her off of him and standing to look for his boxers.

"I- I have to go," he says, voice thick. "Uh, I'll, uh. Bye, Hannah." And she watches, startled and completely perplexed, as he pulls on his clothes and winter-wear with awkward, jerky movements, and stalks out of the room, hunch-shouldered and not looking directly at her.

+++

She doesn't see him again. Three weeks later, as she's listlessly wiping down the tables in the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione Granger comes in, primly dressed.

"Hannah, hello," she begins, warmly, walking cautiously over to the table Hannah's currently swiping at and resting her hand on the back of a chair.

"Sent you to do his dirty work, did he," Hannah says, and she can't muster up enough emotion to even sound bitter. Mostly right now she just feels tired – she's slept poorly ever since that night. She's perpetually up late trying to figure out what exactly happened, trying to figure out when Harry will answer her owls. She has no idea what she did, honestly; Harry's had more than enough time to get over freaking out about declarations of love, _if_ that was the issue, and she just can't think of any logical alternatives.

Hermione, at least, has the presence of mind to look embarrassed at Hannah's question. "Er, well," she says, eloquently. She takes one look at Hannah's face, then takes Hannah's hand into her own and gushes, "Hannah, Ron and I, we _tried_ to talk him into coming himself, but... well, you know Harry..."

"Apparently," Hannah says, slowly, deliberately, "I do not." She sighs, and sits down too. "What's his excuse? He can't love anyone anymore because spells and potions couldn't cure Ginny's cancer? He's scared to let himself feel? He just – " and her voice breaks "–just wasn't that into me?"

"Oh, Hannah," Hermione says, and Hannah just cannot stand the pity on her face. "It's – you're a lovely girl, really, but Harry, he has difficulties with, you know, being _serious_ , and..." she trails off, mostly because Hannah has doubled over and is now banging her head slowly and methodically on the table in front of them.

If she starts talking again, Hannah doesn't hear it. She's busy registering what Hermione just said. She knows that issues with 'being serious' could mean any _number_ of things, but all she can think about are the fights they've had, the ones she thought were so inconsequential, where Harry would say things that made her think he believed she wasn't happy with her lot, that she wasn't happy she didn't get a Ministry job like she thought she wanted back in school. The fights where he let on that he didn't appreciate that she let _anyone_ take advantage of the services of the Leaky Cauldron, not just people on the right side of the law, or...

She catches onto what Hermione's saying now, which is, "...just have Harry come in himself, all right, Hannah?"

"No," she replies, voice breaking on the word. "That shan't be necessary." And, cruelly, she adds, "he shouldn't have to deal with the girl that he played along for six months if he doesn't want to."

By the time she looks up again, Hermione's gone.

***

 **2010**  
True to Ron's word, Harry shows up in the pub half an hour later. He goes up to Ron at the bar, making as if to pull him away, when he sees Hannah standing there.

"Er," he says, flushing bright red. "Hey, Hannah."

"I don't recall you being welcome in this establishment," Hannah says, voice and face entirely devoid of emotion, and take that, Harry, she's pickier about her clientele these days.

His blush darkens. "Don't be that way, Hannah, please," he pleads.

She's having none of it, though. "I believe you gave up your right to make requests of me three years ago," she says, stiffly. "And you certainly haven't regained it in the exactly zero times I've seen you since then."

Harry's face shuts down entirely. "Come on, Ron," he says. "Let's find somewhere else to go."

Hannah isn't proud of herself, but she watches him walk away.

+++

Hannah really just wants to throw herself into learning to give effective massages, improving the quality of service at the Leaky Cauldron, and spending time with friends and _nothing else_ after that, but of course things don't work out that way. She spends a week, shaken from seeing Harry for just those few minutes and hating him for doing that to her, hating herself for getting so completely and ridiculously affected by a guy who has been her ex for _three bloody years_ , and then another week trying to decide whether she hopes he never comes back to the pub or whether she hopes he does.

And then, one sunny Tuesday in late October, she gets back from a meeting with one of her food suppliers in the middle of the afternoon and there he is in full Auror regalia, sitting at the bar with a half-eaten plate of Kevin's special masala chips and a mug of fresh cider in front of him.

She fists her hands behind her back, gripping so tightly that her nails bite into her palms. She knows that she's going to leave marks, deep marks, but needs to somehow swallow the outward reaction she would let herself fall into if only she could figure out what it would be.

After breathing in deep for a moment, after the sharp pain from her nails in her palm turns into a dull, biting ache, she goes forward, moves behind the bar to where she _knows_ he can see her, and lets him make the first move.

"I told them you wouldn't do it," Harry says, staring at the rack of martini glasses a full two feet to Hannah's left. "Not willingly, at least."

It's a full minute before she realizes he's not going to elaborate, and another half-minute before she responds. "Told who what?"

"The Department," he says. His tone is flat and he's still looking at the martini glasses as if his life depends on knowing their exact shape and placement and organization. "There's a case. They want all the information you have on some specific patrons."

Hannah looks at him, startled. This is the last thing she expected. When they were dating, one of their repeat arguments was her staunch belief in respecting the privacy of her patrons. Sure, she caught almost everything they said, and remembered it, and so had a greater understanding of the way things were in Wizarding London than most other wizards in Britain, but she just liked to _know_ people. Harry had kept insisting that she could put her ken to good use helping Magical Law Enforcement with their cases while she maintained that if she were to use the information at _all_ , it would just be to help make her customers more comfortable at the Leaky Cauldron in the future. Yeah, she'll gossip, she'd agree, whenever Harry pointed out her penchant for telling Ernie the things she's heard, and she'll gossip especially if people tell _her_ specifically about whatever. She's not above gossiping, as long as it's harmless. But when it comes to the important things, or the things she merely overhears... well. Those aren't her secrets to tell, and anyway, people _expect_ gossip, but they _don't_ expect their favourite bartender to sell their secrets directly to the law.

"But they're going to make me give it to them, anyways," she says, flatly, and god, she just wants to not deal with this right now.

"I told them no," Harry says, and his gaze darts to her face for the slightest of instants, making her half-convinced she imagined it.

"But why?"

"Contrary to what you might believe, Hannah, I do respect you," he says, and oh, that's rich. That's so fucking rich, the guy who ran out after sex and after she said 'I love you' for the first time and recruited his best _friend_ to break up with her for him _respects_ her. Yeah fucking right. She turns to leave, but his words sweep out and tether her to her spot: "I understand that you might not believe that, but _trust_ me, Hannah."

"Because I have so many good reasons to trust you, right." She's bitter and she's still got her back to him and she doesn't care. She just really doesn't _care_.

Harry drops that thread of conversation. "They told me the alternative to questioning you was to assign an Auror to the pub and listen in on their own. Inconspicuously, of course, and in a way that won't jeopardise _your_ morals."

Hannah whirls, spitting, "It's still taking advantage of _my_ Leaky," when suddenly the fire goes all out of her as something dawns on her. "They assigned you."

"Because I was the one who spoke out against the other options, Hannah, I'm _sorry_."

"Fucking great," Hannah says. "Just- are they _stupid_? Everybody who's _anybody_ among my customers knows – they know that you don't _come_ here anymore."

"Yeah, well," Harry says, voice full of quiet anger that Hannah thinks is directed at her until he speaks again, after a moment's pause: "Dawlish pointed out that there _is_ one way to get around that little problem."

Hannah stares at him, horrified, because she understands immediately what he means. "Oh no. Oh _no_ , fucking _no_ , that is _not an option._ "

"But it is," Harry snaps. "It's your choice, Hannah. Either sell out the secrets of your customers on your own or we pretend to start over again."

+++

The entire situation sucks. She's essentially required _by law_ not to reveal that her second attempt at a relationship with Harry is a complete sham, so she's approached by concerned friends for _ten days_ after they 'go public.'

"Hanny," Susie, the first to drop by, says. "Are you really truly sure that this is the right decision? If you say so, I'll believe you, only – only just _remember_ what happened last time, how you _were_ after, _everything_."

"I'm positive," Hannah says stiffly to Susan, and again and again to every single one of her other friends, and by the time Zacharias finally shows up, the last and least of her friends to caution her, the words almost come naturally.

She tells the truth to Ernie, of course, law be damned, because she can't imagine lying to him in any situation, and he just folds her in his arms and tucks her head against his chest, holding her until she's ready to pull away.

"Why does it have to be _here_?" he asks, finally, an hour later. They've been sipping hot chocolate (laced with whisky, of course, given the situation) and he's been distracting her by reminiscing about particularly memorable Hufflepuff study group sessions when he blurts the question, so it's kind of out of the blue.

"Oh, Ernie," Hannah sighs, and then she actually smiles a little. "You know why. That's just... I mean. I've been trying to make the Leaky the, you know, the social hub of Wizarding Britain. I guess it worked."

"I guess so," Ernie agrees, reaching out to pull her in for another hug.

+++

The highlights of Hannah's weeks, lately, are her massage lessons. She can't wait until Michael deems her talented enough to start offering massages at the Leaky. It's just- being on the giving end is just as soothing as being on the receiving end, except it's a different kind of relaxing. And she needs to be relaxed, what with seeing Harry almost every day now.

The worst part is that they _have_ to talk. It would be enormously suspicious if they didn't, so every time Harry comes into the pub, Hannah goes to take his order, and lingers. She has a bunch of stock questions to ask him, all safe topics, that are personal enough to make her seem interested to everyone else, and distancing enough to keep her from wanting to scream.

Of course, he has to go up to her room sometimes, too. Weekends, she'll send him up to wait for her while she finishes closing up downstairs. By the time she makes it up, he's always already left to go home.

Most difficult is when her friends are all at the Leaky Cauldron. Hannah hates lying to them, _hates_ it, and she's told this to Harry in no small words, but he just apologized and insisted that there was nothing he could do about the situation. And her friends are ever-watchful: to make sure that Harry doesn't hurt Hannah again, they all insist that he comes to every one of their gatherings, and Hannah has to ramp up her interactions with him to an entirely new level so that her friends, who know her so well, don't get suspicious.

It's after the third such occasion, after Hannah spends two excruciating hours curled around Harry on a Transfigured couch in the back room at the Leaky Cauldron, surrounded by all of her nearest and dearest, that she decides she can't _fake_ this sort of thing anymore. Lying to her friends – that's just. It's just something she can't stomach.

"Harry," she murmurs, leaning in close, and there she is, still lying, technically, because she doesn't want to lean into him and whisper to him like this in front of her friends. Having him around – it's less awful than she expected, but the pretending is practically unbearable. "Stay after."

He turns to her, eyebrows raised, obviously wanting to question this, but because they're so surrounded, he just nods and smiles.

+++

After everyone leaves and the pub is closed for the night, Hannah starts re-shelving the bottles that her friends didn't quite finish. Harry sits on a bar stool, silently watching her, for five minutes before he breaks.

"What is it?"

"I want a reason."

"I – what?"

Hannah puts up the last, half-full bottle of gin and turns to face him squarely. "I can't keep faking a relationship with you," she says, frankly. "I can't keep, you know, _pretending_ to have deep and meaningful conversation, and _lying_ to my _friends_ about being _happy_ with you."

Harry just looks at her, almost sadly. She ignores the look, picks up a rag because she needs _something_ to occupy her hands, and starts wiping off the bar even though she's pretty sure that it's already quite clean.

"Hannah," he says. "Are you saying that..."

"What I'm saying is, is that it's time for some explanations," she says, flatly. "Why did you just leave, why didn't I see you for three _years_ , why did you send _Hermione_ , why-"

Harry holds up his hand. Hannah almost hates herself for shutting up when he does. "I panicked," he says, simply.

"Oh, well, _that's_ great," Hannah spits out. "You panicked and what, never talk to me again after I profess my _love_ for you?"

Looking decidedly uncomfortable ( _good_ , Hannah thinks), Harry says, "Uh. I guess so."

"Yeah, that's a fucking horrible excuse."

"Look, Hannah," Harry snaps. "You were – we were great, but it was never supposed to be a long-term thing..."

"Great," Hannah says loudly, throwing her rag down and putting her hands on her hips. "That's just _great_. Good to know I was just a bit of _fun_."

"Will you _let_ me _finish_?" Harry asks, obviously trying very hard not to yell. Hannah glares, but she clamps her mouth shut and says nothing, and Harry takes a deep breath before continuing, more levelly. "You were never supposed be a long-term thing," he says. "I was – you were a nice girl, but... Ginny, she'd only been, you know, _gone_ for a year and a half and I was just planning on easing back into the dating world and, honestly, at first I thought you were hung up on Ernie-" Hannah scoffs at this, but stays quiet, and Harry gives her an unreadable look. "I know _now_ that couldn't ever happen, but at first... well. Anyway. And we fought _all the time_ , you realize that? So I just kept telling myself that it was impossible, and I just. I kept not _believing_ myself, especially by the end. And that night, you know, when you. When you told me you loved me? I panicked, because I. I felt the same way but I wasn't _ready_ to feel that way. And then I figured you'd probably hate me for running out like that and I kept trying to, you know, face my feelings and face you and finally Hermione just, she offered to help and I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth, not completely, and. Yeah." He looks at Hannah, but only tangentially, and without much hope.

"I believe you," she says, at last, because she _does_ , somehow. "But that does _not_ mean that I like this."

Harry nods, and they're both quiet a little while before he finally asks, "So. You uh. You can't keep lying to your friends? Does that mean you'll talk?"

Hannah considers the question seriously. "No," she says, finally. "I can't do that."

"Do you want to um," Harry says, almost disbelievingly. "Try again, then?"

"No!" she says, a little too quick and a little too loud. "How about we try as. Friends?" That should be difficult but not impossible, and at least it makes her a little less of a liar.

Harry grins, a grin that's more relieved than it is particularly happy, and nods. "Friends."

+++

Of course it's never that simple. They start talking again, sure, but it's strained at best, at first, and even as they ease into it, their conversations are still fraught. At first, they both try to avoid any mention of their relationship whatsoever, but that ends in a huge blow-out fight about, well, their relationship, and where things went wrong, and how things could have been better, and how _they_ each could have been better to the other, and at the end of it all, Hannah feels all limp and wrung out and ends up spending the night on Ernie's guest bed cuddling his fat cat, Jimmy, because she can _not_ deal with being in the Leaky Cauldron right now.

After that, they don't skirt around the issue anymore, but it's still only mentioned lightly, carefully, hesitantly.

Slowly, she finds herself relaxing more, and as a week trickles by, and another, she realises that she's losing her anger at everything that happened three years ago. Sometimes she thinks that she should try and hold onto it, but mostly... being Harry's friend is actually nice, and Hannah's always preferred forgiveness to blame.

There are times when she wants to kiss him. She never does, of course, because that is possibly the most ill-advised thing she could possibly do, but sometimes they're working on their friendship – he stays, now, when he goes up to her room, and they'll talk or perhaps watch the television that Justin gave her for her birthday last year for an hour or two before he goes home – and something will happen that just _floods_ her with memories of their time as a couple, and just from that, that brush of his knuckle against her arm or the fall of his hair across his forehead or even just the way he says a certain word, will knock her flat and she'll ball her hands up in fists to quell the urge to just grab his face and pull him in for a long kiss and fall into the familiarity of his mouth on her mouth.

Sometimes, given the look on Harry's face, she thinks he might be thinking the same thing.

+++

By mid-November, Hannah's mostly gotten the hang of good massage. "I suggest you find other people to practice on," Michael tells her, putting his shirt back on after a practice session.

Hannah considers Ernie, but Padma is kind of weird about people who aren't her touching him a lot, so she decides against asking. She actually can't really think of anyone else she'd really want to practice on, anyone who has enough free time and who isn't in a relationship like Ernie's, and she finds herself talking to Harry about her quandry the next day when he's popped by for a quick bowl of Kevin's thick harvest stew for lunch.

"I'll do it," he says, mouth full of the crusty soup-dipped roll, after Hannah's been talking about it for ten minutes.

"Wait, seriously?" Hannah asks, wondering whether this is a good idea. She can't really think of a proper reason not to – _sometimes I miss us more than I should, and this probably won't help_ doesn't seem like something she can really _say_.

"Uh, yeah," Harry says, running a hand through his hair, and, well, okay then.

"Are you sure this is a, you know, good idea?" she asks, hesitantly, and Harry looks uncertain, she thinks, but then he nods decisively.

"Unless you don't want to, of course," he adds, biting his lip.

"Uh, no, I don't care," she says, because if she can give a successful massage to Harry Potter, she can give a successful massage to _anyone_.

+++

Hannah's had a room picked out for massages for two weeks, now, but she hasn't fully and properly outfitted it, so when she leads Harry inside, she does some quick spellwork to make sure everything is as it should be.

"Have you had a massage before?" she asks Harry, and he nods, so she directs him to prepare, then tries not to watch too closely as he strips down to his boxers and lies down, face-down. She gets the oil she's been using with Michael – it's faintly scented and she's found it's a good conduit for magical massage, too, encouraging the faintest trickle of power through her fingertips into the body below her hands, encouraging relaxation and rehabilitation. Figuring it's appropriate for this situation, she spreads a little on her hands and then gets to work, first running her hands along Harry's back to get a read on his body and _oh, it's been so long since I've done that_ , she thinks, then tells herself fiercely to shut up, and starts in, first with the barest touch and then gradually increasing force until he whispers, "'tha's good," and she maintains that amount of pressure.

Hannah is tentative, at first, because she's so used to the familiarity of Michael's back at this point that Harry's is almost foreign. It makes sense, then, this practicing on others. But as she feels Harry slowly loosen between her fingers, she grows bolder, kneading deep and slicking her hands down his back, trailing tracks of oil as she moves further and further. She's almost at his bum when he groans, so quietly she can barely hear it. The sound brings her up short, and she freezes, but just for a second, before working on. Moving on from his back, she goes down to his feet, then calves, and then slowly up his thighs, very careful not to think about how close her hands are to his cock as she gets higher and higher. He shifts slightly, and she startles again, and then continues on, doggedly, feeling as if from a distance how her magic is leeching through her hands over his skin, feeling her fingers prickle with it, and she's convinced that she'd be experiencing some form of static electricity if it weren't for the oil. But the feeling is electric, and she slowly gets more and more charged up, and when she notices the faint trickle of wetness in her underpants, Hannah can't help but think: _Merlin, this is so_ wrong.

She clears her throat gruffly and clears her mind and focuses on finishing up, as quickly as she possibly can without making it seem as if she's rushing through it. When she's done, she wipes her hands off on the front of her robes. "So?" she asks, cursing how husky her voice sounds.

Harry's voice is thick when he responds. "That was. That was really good," he says, not moving from his spot.

They're quiet for a long time.

+++

The December day that Hannah posts a sign that reads MASSAGES AT A REASONABLE PRICE, OFFERED **NOW** AT THE LEAKY CAULDRON in one of the Leaky's windows, Harry comes by.

"We, uh. We caught the leaders of the smuggling ring," he says, by way of greeting, as Hannah Spellotapes the last corner of the sign down.

"Beg pardon?" she asks, tucking her hair behind her ears as she turns around.

"The reason I was planted here," Harry clarifies, looking uncertain, whispering because there's someone eating at a table nearby.

Hannah can't properly analyze the way she's feeling right now, but her heart is pounding. "So..."

"So we don’t have to keep pretending anymore." It's said flatly.

"Oh," Hannah says. She finds a chair to sink down into. What she's feeling – it's disappointment, somehow. "Okay."

Harry hesitates. "Hannah..."

"Yes?"

"I – your friends will hate me even more now, won't they?"

"They don't hate you," Hannah protests, weakly.

"They love you," he points out, and even though that's not the same thing at _all_ , Hannah understands what he's saying.

"Well, yes, but..."

Harry interrupts her. "What I'm trying to say is, despite the lies, I've really liked these past two months. I've liked, uh, being around you. Again. And I'll miss you, I guess is what I'm trying to say."

"Harry," Hannah says, staring at him. "I – what?"

He continues on, doggedly. "I know I don't really have any hope of it, not after everything, but I'd like to be able to stay. Longer, I mean. With you."

 _This is so ill-advised_ , Hannah thinks, but... she's had a nice time too, ultimately, and... "I guess, you know, I guess you don't have to go."

And Harry's pulling her up and into his embrace, and she tilts her face up towards his, and, arms tightening around her, he kisses her, strong and sure, and she's matching him in strength, feeling his lips part and his tongue touch the seam of her lips. She pulls away, staring up at him.

"Too fast?" he asks, earnestly, and Hannah shakes her head slowly, then buries her head in his neck as she hugs him.

+++

They do move relatively slowly, though, because even though they've discussed the past and even though Hannah feels as though it probably won't repeat itself, she's still nervous to have sex with Harry after what happened their last time. And Harry seems to respect that, never pressing the issue, always letting her set the pace. Still, by Christmas, they've slept – relatively chastely – in the same bed several times, and on Christmas morning, Harry moves them beyond kisses and clumsy fumbling by going down on Hannah for absolute _ages_. She lies on her bed, hands fisting in the covers, as Harry grips her waist and flicks his tongue firmly against her clit, as he licks it down and then pushes it wetly into her, as he draws three orgasms out of her in gradual succession.

On New Year's Eve, Harry Apparates into her rooms to pick her up for a date almost half an hour before she's expecting him, and he catches her completely naked and touching herself, getting off so that she won't be as on-edge when she's around him, clothes for the date laid out on the bed beside her. He stares for almost a full moment, and at first her fingers freeze on her clit, but then, almost tentatively, she starts moving them again in tiny pinching circles as she stares at him, borderline daringly.

He clears his throat. "Hannah – let me?"

She bites her lip _hard_ and, after considering for a full ten seconds, nods. He moves slowly over to her, reaching out as he draws closer, running a hand lightly up her thigh to her stomach and then down, slowly, tantalisingly, until he's thumbing her clit slowly, his fingers dipping inside of her and then drawing out quickly. He pauses just long enough to lie down next to her, staring at her face as her mouth falls open, soundlessly, before he's pushing his fingers inside her, _hard_ and moving his mouth over hers to swallow her gasps. After fucking her with his fingers for about five minutes, he drags his hand up her side to a breast, circling a nipple with fingers, still moist from being inside her, and oh _Jesus_ , oh _Merlin_ , she can't wait any longer. She pulls him on top of her, between her legs, feeling his cock hot and full and straining against his trousers through his dress robes, and she rolls her hips up against his, kissing him harder and tugging his lower lip between her teeth.

Harry groans loudly, then pulls back to look at her, seriously. "Are you sure?" he asks, looking Hannah in the eye, and she pulls him in for another fierce kiss before saying, " _Yes_ , Harry, Merlin, _please_ " even as she starts working his robes up his body.

He sits up to pull them off and unbutton the shirt he's wearing underneath, and Hannah reaches forward to unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers, shoving them down low enough for his cock to spring free through the slit in his boxers. She wraps a hand around it, savouring the soft-smooth skin shifting through her hand as she sits up slightly, just enough to pull him into another kiss. He abandons his shirt, shoving his trousers and boxers further down his legs before falling on top of her again, kissing her soundly, blunt tip of his cock pushing against her clit until she reaches down and guides it to her entrance. Harry stares at her, then whispers the protection charm before pressing forward and oh _God_ , Hannah did not realize how _much_ she missed the feeling of Harry stretching and filling her until he's doing it again, hips rolling as he pushes slowly deeper. She moves her legs up around his waist, drawing him in deeper, moaning as he pulls almost completely out and drives in again.

"Fuck, Harry," she gasps, unable to look away from his mouth and the way it's working in soundless words, the way his face is screwed up in a look of concentration that she apparently hasn't forgotten in the years it's been since they've done this – he's trying to hold back from coming too soon, already, after barely a minute, and Hannah will be _damned_ if that doesn't turn her on even more. She moves frantically against him, wrapping her arms around his back, scratching lightly as he tries to maintain a steady rhythm.

"I – Hannah," Harry says, breath catching in the middle of her name, biting his lip hard. He moves against her a few more times, and she moves her hands down to the small of his back as she moves her hips to meet him. "Hannah," he says again, speeding up as if he can't help it. "Hannah," he almost shouts, and she can tell that he's about to start coming. "Hannah, I love you," he groans, and Hannah barely has time to register this before his hips jerk against hers _hard_ once more and she feels the slow warmth of his come inside of her as he collapses on top of her, utterly spent.

Hannah kisses him, hard. She can't decide whether the words have come startlingly soon in their new relationship, or whether she's been somehow waiting to hear them since before they broke up, so long ago. The words aren't unwelcome, though, she realizes. As he rolls off of her, kissing her back and pinching a nipple and then reaching, lower, to stroke her to orgasm, she whispers, "Me too."

+++

The massages are a success, and before too long, Hannah can hire one of Michael's students as a part-time masseuse. Ernie comes over in late January to be the first customer to experience Eleanor's massages. Afterwards, he and Hannah sit down for a mug of tea at a small table in the kitchen. He knows that she and Harry are together for real, now, and, until now, he hasn't said much on the subject.

"Are you happy?" he asks, abruptly, around a swallow of tea.

Hannah considers the question seriously, reflecting on both the way the Leaky is _thriving_ and on her relationship with Harry – how they fight less and talk things through more, how they have sex almost every day, how now she can say 'I love you' and he won't run away – before nodding decisively. "Yeah, Ernie," she says. "I really think I am."


End file.
